The long, heavy oak tables in the main dining hall had been pushed together to form one massive, communal banquet space… and for the first time since I’d crossed the Minnesota border, the room didn’t feel cold or imposing. The glowing chandeliers overhead cast a deep, golden warmth over the entire space, reflecting off the polished wood and the eager faces of the thirty-odd pack house members who lived on the main compound.
When the massive, steaming platters of lasagna, garlic bread, and crisp romaine salad were finally laid out down the center of the table, a sudden, respectful silence fell over the room. Every single “meat and potatoes” wolfie in the house was staring at the feast with wide, hungry eyes, their enhanced senses clearly tracking the rich scent of the melted mozzarella and slow-simmered sausage.
Before anyone could lift a fork, Kyle stood right up on his chair, his chest puffed out with immense pride as he pointed a small finger at the table. “Me and Amara made the food! We did the lettuce and painted the bread with real butter!”
Amara nodded vigorously next to him, her cheeks flushed pink as she giggled and clapped her hands.
“They absolutely did,” I chimed in from the head of the table, a proud, genuine grin breaking across my face as I looked around at the crowd. “I couldn’t have done a single bit of it without my two head chefs. So you all better make sure you thank them.”
A chorus of deep, rumbling laughter and cheers went up from the pack members, and the moment Stormy gave the official nod, the room descended into a glorious, chaotic frenzy of passing plates and clinking silverware. I sat back, a deep, happy warmth blooming in my chest as I watched the first bites go down. Within seconds, a beautiful cacophony of happy groans, appreciative grunts, and loud “yummms” rippled down the entire length of the table. These guys were used to standard, institutional pack cooking—they had never experienced country girl sensibilities mixed with a traditional, slow-cooked Italian Sunday sauce.
Right next to me, Amara was shifting eagerly in her seat, her eyes locked onto her plate.
“Hold your horses, sweet girl,” I whispered softly, pulling her plate closer to mine. I meticulously cut the rich, cheesy layers of lasagna into perfect, bite-sized pieces, lifting each forkful up to blow on it gently so she wouldn’t burn her sensitive little mouth. “There we go… nice and cool now.”
She beamed up at me, taking the first bite with a closed eyed, happy hum that melted my heart into absolute mush.
The entire dining space was completely filled with an overwhelming sense of love and community. People were talking over one another, teasing, laughing, and shouting compliments across the table to their new Luna. Even our handsome, stoic Glacier—Knight, whose icy Beta demeanor usually looked like it was carved out of solid marble—set his fork down after his third massive helping, a rare, genuine smile softening his rugged face.
“I have to admit, Luna…” Knight said, his deep voice carrying over the chatter as he gave me a respectful nod. “You make a hell of a lasagna. I think the entire guard would gladly pull extra border shifts just for the promise of the leftovers.”
Stormy let out a loud, proud rumble from my other side, his massive, calloused hand coming down to rest securely over mine on the tabletop, his ice-blue eyes practically burning with devotion. “Hands off the leftovers, Beta. The Luna’s cooking stays in the Alpha suite.”
But just as a loud round of groans and laughter erupted from the table, the beautiful, warm bubble we had built over the last three days didn’t just pop—it was violently shattered.
CRASH.
A loud, jarring, metallic ruckus echoed from the courtyard outside, followed by the savage, echoing snarls of the perimeter guard. The laughter in the dining hall died instantly, replaced by a suffocating, lethal tension that turned the air completely freezing.
Stormy was on his feet before the sound even finished vibrating through the floorboards. His chair slammed backward against the wall, his inner Alpha radiating a terrifying, suffocating wave of dominant power that made the hair on my arms stand straight up. Knight and the rest of the guard scrambled up in perfect unison, their eyes flashing bright amber as their wolves pushed to the surface.
“Veronica, stay behind me,” Stormy ordered, his voice dropping into a guttural, terrifying register as he sprinted toward the central corridor, leading the charge.
The entire table rushed toward the front entrance, a sea of massive, defensive bodies forming a protective wall around the children and me. But as the heavy, iron-reinforced front doors swung open to the crisp evening air, the scene in the courtyard made my breath catch violently in my throat.
Standing in the center of the gravel drive was a massive, scarred wolfie—Jackson. He was in his human form, his face twisted into a smug, malicious sneer… and his thick, brutal hand was wrapped entirely around Rachael’s throat, lifting her slightly off her toes. A dangerous, snarling gang of his own pack members swarmed in a tight perimeter around him, their teeth bared at the Moon Shadow guard.
Rachael looked absolutely terrified, her face pale and streaked with dirt as her hands frantically clawed at Jackson’s iron grip, her breath coming in desperate, ragged gasps.
“Mommy!” Amara’s tiny voice suddenly shrieked from behind me, her little body trying to push through the crowd of guards to get to the door.
“No, Amara, stay back!” I gasped, my maternal instincts exploding into overdrive. I lunged forward, catching her tiny frame and pulling her fiercely against my body, cuddling her tight to my chest as I buried her face in my shoulder to block out the horror in the yard.
Down on the gravel, the space between the two Alphas completely cleared out as Stormy and Jackson squared off, the sheer pressure of their competing auras making the pine trees rustle without a breeze.
Jackson tightened his grip on Rachael’s throat, a low, mocking chuckle escaping his chest as he looked up at the pack house steps. “Look what I found wandering the borders, Kinkaid,” Jackson shouted, his voice dripping with venomous amusement. “Found your piece of trash when she came groveling right back to my territory. Figured I’d bring her home to her owner… since you don’t mind my cast offs.”
A collective, deafening growl tore through Stormy and the entire Moon Shadow pack, a low, vibrating rumble of pure, unadulterated rage that shook the very foundation of the stone stairs. The guards slowly began to fan out into a lethal crescent formation, their muscles bunching, completely ready to tear into the intruders the very second their Alpha gave the command…